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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581964">Of Stars and Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick'>loveandwarandmagick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Excerpts From The Rooftop [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Crushes, Demisexual Neil Josten, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insomnia, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nothing Worse than Canon, POV Andrew Minyard, Pining, andrew writes stories, just boys bonding on the rooftop, neil likes listening to him, no moriyama shit to deal with</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew is an English major coming down from his drugs, spending his nights on the rooftop while everyone's asleep. What he suspected was a hallucination, a side-effect, follows him up there, and doesn't disappear even after he gets sober. </p><p>This is troubling. It's even more troubling that Neil wants to listen to him. The worst part is probably that Andrew finds himself wanting - the truth, to give his own, to see if Neil wants more than that. </p><p>Or, the non-mafia au where the only impending doom is the height of the roof, and the fact that talking to Neil makes him feel like he's standing at the edge of the drop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Excerpts From The Rooftop [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Stars and Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>okay hihihi, yes this was primarily a snowbaz ao3, but my friend @jostens_pitch encouraged me to write this here! prolly be writing more aftg stuff in the future, as i love this story and these characters dearly, but of course, i'll never give up my snowbaz fics</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It’s the third time this week that Andrew’s seen him out on the roof. </p><p>He would assume that he’s a wandering shadow, or a side effect of his medication, but as the new freshman striker for the Foxes, he’s become the center of <em> everyone’s </em>attention. This instantly rules out the possibility of his impossibility. Kevin talks about him the least, but since he sees Andrew the most, he’s mentioned at least once. Nicky complains about how unfairly attractive he is, and the answering comments are split between a mixture of honest agreement and a few shushes. </p><p>Even Aaron has begrudgingly commented on his potential, though he’s cruel in his mention. Andrew recalls the first thing he said to him in the locker rooms, addressing Neil directly when he’d said, “<em> Hey, looks like another Monster.” </em></p><p>Andrew didn’t even have to spare a glance to know that he must have caught sight of a stray scar, or maybe dozens of them. Each of them have their fair share, and it’s the cruel joke of their group that the other members have caught onto. </p><p>So, no. Not a hallucination. But he sticks to shadows and periphery so much that he might as well be. If Andrew was so inclined, he’d ask why he needs to be lurking around so often - and he’d never ask if he <em> wanted </em> anything. Anyone who’s ever wanted something from him takes it without asking, or doesn’t accept the <em> no </em> they receive. He’s learned to ask for need, and only deals it in promises and fair trade.</p><p>As he glances at Neil for the fourth time tonight in between drags of his cigarette, he wonders if there’s a promise he needs made. From the talk he hears between the upperclassmen, and the cursory internet search he conducted - revealing far too many interesting things about his past - he’s assuming the answer is yes. </p><p>But for now, he waits. In the shadows, under his gear. Hiding, hiding. Under heavy dark clothes, and at the edges of his vision. The hallucination theory has yet to be entirely disproved by the fact that everyone else sees him too. There is a chance that he’s unreal, still. When he finally steps into the light, conscious of the distance between his feet and the ledge, Andrew’s theory shifts grudgingly. </p><p>“Minyard,” he says, and his voice cracks the silence in the air. He looks down at Andrew, not even flinching when Andrew blows a cloud of smoke straight through his teeth into his face. Instead, he breathes it in, not looking away from Andrew’s eyes despite the way his own have started to water.</p><p>Not a hallucination then. </p><p>The fire of his auburn hair against the dark sky above him is a blurred edge of a fantasy; the blue of his eyes is a shade Andrew imagines would exist only in a place behind his eyes, while he was sleeping. </p><p>Neil Josten is not a side effect, never has been. But he might be a dream. And there he is, same as always. Even with his profile illuminated, shadows cling to him, protecting him in a way that Andrew doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t stand too close to the edge. Or to Andrew.</p><p><em> Same difference </em>, his mind suggests, and he might have laughed if he hadn’t been two weeks sober. Cracker dust does not provide the same joys of high strung mania, nor the hallucination he had hoped for.</p><p>“Andrew,” he calls again, dragging his gaze upwards to the stars above them. </p><p>“What,” Andrew asks flatly, not letting his curiosity follow his voice into the open air. Neil seems to catch it anyway, grinning like a menace at the acknowledgement. </p><p>“Your cousin said you wouldn’t talk to me,” he says, biting his lip and forcing away the hint of satisfaction on his face when Andrew shifts his eyes back to him. <em> Monster </em>, Aaron had said. Close enough, from the state of his face. </p><p><em> Interesting </em>, Andrew’s mind whispers, as he takes in the ragged pink scar layered over his cheekbone. What’s more interesting is that he didn’t even consider it, too drawn by the fierce colors overlapping everything else. A fever dream, drug-induced. A view obscured by the bottom of a bottle. </p><p>“So why try?” he asks, careful not to let his thoughts leach into his words. It’s easier now, while he’s sober, but he won’t take his chances. He stays quiet and lets his eyes fall away from Neil, still feeling the burn of his gaze on him until he walks away without another word.</p><p>He stays away from the roof for three days, and Andrew has only just curbed his curiosity before he shows up again. This time, with his own cigarette carton and lighter. He plops down right next to Andrew on the edge, studying the lighter in his hands until he pulls his gaze up to Andrew. </p><p>“What are you studying?” Neil asks, lighting his own cigarette and letting it burn down, watching patiently as the smoke curls up from between his fingers. The fastest way to get rid of someone is not to speak, but somehow, Andrew doesn’t think that’ll work with Neil. Truth crawls up his throat in response to the patience lining Neil’s features. An unfamiliar fear coils coldly in his stomach in response to his yearning to speak for once. </p><p>He forces it down, waiting for a sign. For Neil to get tired of waiting and watching his cigarette, for him to step away and go back to sleep. It must be around one a.m. now; he’ll get tired eventually. </p><p>“M’ doing Linguistics,” he says after a beat of silence. Andrew watches him swallow around his words, waiting in the silence for him to get tired of waiting. It’s another few minutes before he can’t take it anymore. His words come up rough, voice unpolished from disuse and nicotine.</p><p>“Why are you talking to me?” </p><p>Neil almost looks surprised, a flicker of shock dancing in his gaze before it disappears again. Andrew looks away. </p><p>“You don’t sleep,” he says slowly, gesturing at him, “And neither do I.” </p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p>“And you’re the only one not sleeping right now. Solidarity.”</p><p>Andrew hums, annoyed by his persistence. Or curious, and annoyed by his own curiosity. Rather than the necessary caution he holds with people, to figure them out before they can get under his skin; this is driven by something different altogether. He refuses to name it, but it burns under his skin, restless and threatening to consume him. Neil’s gaze has the same effect.</p><p>“That’s why,” he continues, oblivious to Andrew’s struggle with his own fascination. It’s not unfamiliar to him to be curious, but it is odd that he finds himself trailing the feeling, letting it even go this far. He suspects that it must be Neil himself pulling at it, that it’s because one else would bother being this persistent. </p><p>He hums again, and Neil remains, undeterred or oblivious. It’s enough to spark something like frustration, an extension of his own wonder. </p><p>“What do you want?” Andrew asks, tired. Too weary to check his vocabulary, or it could be that hope has softened his phrases into something more impossible. </p><p>Maybe he wants to hook up, quick and easy to dispose of. That would make more sense than this odd routine, not quite finding each other as settling in the same place. Neil would make more sense if he didn’t look so unreal, if he left Andrew alone after receiving short responses and prolonged silences.</p><p>“What do <em> you </em> want?” Neil asks, and Andrew’s thoughts falter. </p><p>He’s all too aware of the danger of asking for want. It’s like standing in the middle of a busy street and hoping that the cars are careful enough to care, despite their right of way to pass on through. </p><p>He didn’t know there was a hidden danger to it, someone willing to ask what he wants. This feels closer to the feeling of straddling the roof’s edge, seceding control for a moment. Only having as much power as the sky and the wind at his shoulders, only half hoping he doesn’t tumble over.</p><p>“Nothing,” he responds, and doesn’t watch Neil, sure that this time he’ll leave and stay gone. Maybe he’ll deny that statement, and go, or maybe he’ll decide Andrew isn’t worth his patience at all. </p><p>“Okay,” he says instead, and they sit silently until Andrew goes through his second cigarette and stands up for bed, legs feeling numb under his weight. </p><p>-</p><p>He comes back, over and over again. </p><p>Whether Andrew is sober or not, Neil Josten remains a tentative sort of ghost in his life. He lingers, still mostly in his periphery during the day. But at night, he has questions to be answered, things that no one’s ever asked Andrew. Stupid ones, mostly, but he suspects there’s more behind them. </p><p>Tonight, Neil sits with his unsmoked cigarette, sneaking glances at Andrew when he thinks he’s not being watched. </p><p>He should know, with the way he glances around all the time, that Andrew can’t take his eyes off of him no matter how hard he tries.</p><p>“Why don’t you go to sleep early?” Neil asks, like maybe he knows that it’s a choice to deprive himself of sleep. Andrew wonders how he catches onto so many nuances and hidden things and still chooses to sit up here with him. How he feels so impossibly seen by this boy, with his one-track mind for exy and simplicity. </p><p>Neil’s answering comments to the questions Andrew has for him are simple enough to gather main facts, but it’s the silences and hidden glances that reveal the rest of him. </p><p>“Nightmares,” he replies. “You?”</p><p>He’s been telling himself for a month that he doesn’t care about the answer, though he suspects that even without his eidetic memory, he’d remember every sheltered truth that Neil has offered him. </p><p>“Same,” he sighs back, locking eyes with Andrew. Whatever he sees there makes him falter, as his gaze dances across Andrew’s features. “Do you write stuff? Since you know, English major. And you like writing…”</p><p>Andrew has to hold back a surprised snort at his bluntness. “I write stuff. Yes.” </p><p>Neil pauses, chewing on his lower lip. “Like what?”</p><p>Now, Andrew falters. The only person who’s ever bothered to ask about his writing is Nicky, and even then, he was shut down fairly quickly. Kevin glares curiously at his notepad on the days that Andrew drives him to the court for night practice, most likely jealous of whichever thing garnered his attention over exy. </p><p>He stares at Neil. Neil stares back, either oblivious to his internal conflict or stubbornly refusing to withdraw his curiosity. Andrew wonders again, what he did to deserve this unwavering attention, from someone who wants nothing but truth. </p><p>“Children’s stories,” he says, smiling despite himself at the cruel humor in it. A private joke that no one could understand, buried beneath different homes and years of distance from the things that happened to him. </p><p>“That’s cool,” Neil says, because for reasons Andrew can’t fathom, he refuses to dig deeper than what’s offered to him. It’s infuriating and attractive, and Andrew hates him for being both those things, and more. There are secrets underneath his scars, and in the silence between them, that Andrew wants to uncover. The safety of knowing is a smaller driving force than his own curiosity, though, and the truth is a heavy, cutting thing in his gut.</p><p>“I could tell you one,” Andrew says, before he can bite the air and fall back into the safety of silence. Neil’s gaze burns heavily into the side of his head, and at last, he takes a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke falls out of his mouth in a thick stream as he turns away. </p><p>“So you can sleep. And leave me alone,” Andrew adds. He looks at him only to catch the disbelief on his face, and it sends an unwelcome thrill through him to know that Neil sees through the mask. Or maybe, it’s just the first time that Andrew’s lowered it for anyone. </p><p>“Alright,” he says quietly, edging away from the thin ledge and onto the more solid ground of the roof. He leans back on his hands, inhaling once again before crushing out the cigarette.</p><p>Andrew takes a deep breath, tilting his head up to stare at the stars as he wonders which to tell him. None feel fitting for this moment, for <em> Neil </em> , with his unwavering curiosity and insistent trust. Andrew tries to tell himself that it doesn’t go deeper than meeting up here, but sitting with him on the edge is trust enough. No one else would get so close to him, seeing his wall of pill bottles and whiskey, knives and the nickname <em> monster </em>. </p><p>“There’s a star,” he starts quietly, bypassing the traditional storybook introduction he’d written mostly ironically, as a mimicry of the semblance of childhood he’d had. He hasn’t written this story down. It’s an old one he’d tell himself to ease the ache in his lower back on bad nights, the burn in the skin of his wrists. It was for him only, though with the way Neil watches him, he suspects he might need it as well. </p><p>“The star fell from the sky, into the earth. And a boy found it there, buried in the dirt, so far down that he almost didn’t see the shine of it. And the star told him that she’d love him forever and ever, so long as he was quiet with her.”</p><p>It hadn’t been fair to write Cass in, to say that she’d asked him for quiet. It hadn’t been her fault, but still. The dregs of the past change the narrative, a heavy weight becoming even heavier. </p><p>He pauses here to look at Neil, gauging his reaction. His gaze has wandered up to the sky, blue eyes shining against the pale shade of his face. Feeling Andrew’s stare, he turns to meet his eyes, letting a hum fall into the air between them. Andrew accepts it and continues. </p><p>“He loved the star. She was everything to him, and went anywhere he went. And so they became friends.”</p><p>He can’t help the rolling feeling in his tone, the way his voice sharpens to a deadly point on the word <em> friends </em>, and softens through his descriptions. The truth buried here is too delicate, a still sore spot in his chest that refuses to harden with the rest of his heart. </p><p>“The boy never forgot her rule, and how could he have? His memory was perfect, and it was only one rule, after all. So, while she slept through the night, he stayed silent in his bed. She’d told him there were no monsters under the bed, and he didn’t tell her that the monsters crawled into bed to share it, because she’d asked him to be quiet.”</p><p>Neil was staring straight ahead, listening still, despite the sudden tension lacing his body. Andrew’s eyes fall to the clench of his jaw. </p><p>“And after a while, the boy started to wonder what he did to deserve the star. She was bright, and kind, and loved him, and for his whole life, no one else had. But her rule left her sitting in the palm of his hand, so quiet that she burned him. The heat spread up to his arms, through his whole body, until it hurt just to be around her.”</p><p>He refuses to look at Neil now, refuses to give way to the shaking in his hands. The true ending of the story is too much to give, so much when Neil never even asked for it. <em> Wrap it up </em>, chants his mind, and he changes the ending abruptly, not wanting to reveal too much of the truth.</p><p>“He was so burned that he let go,” he whispers, “And she didn’t try to stop him.” His voice is raw when he falls into silence, still not looking at Neil.</p><p>“You didn’t say it was a sad story,” Neil says quietly, too quietly for it not to mean anything. </p><p>“You didn’t ask,” Andrew replies, trying to clear the taste of memories from his mouth. </p><p>“Where’d you come up with that?” He asks, voice wavering under the strain of such a loaded question. Andrew studies his hands, fingers still wrapped around his cigarette tightly despite the tremoring. He doesn’t answer, and doesn’t feel bad about it. Something about Neil makes it easier to be silent, like it’s not coming from a place of spite, the way it does with Kevin or Aaron. </p><p>He’s never felt like he owed anyone anything. But he can’t stop the guilt he feels sometimes, and he can’t stop thinking about why it never comes with Neil, despite the feeling that he owes him. Sometimes he falls asleep with want pressed against his tongue and it diffuses into his dreams, looking like Neil and truth, and reluctant trust. The words fill his mouth, something he doesn’t quite understand making his rage boil over. </p><p>“It’s late,” he says instead, and stands up without looking back. </p><p>It’s not guilt that keeps him up, but the <em> wanting </em>. Wanting to tell him, not because it was owed, but simply because he wants to. When he sleeps, he dreams of burning alive, and when he wakes, he can’t remember whether it was painful or not. </p><p>Neil is on the roof before him this time, already sitting too close to the drop. He’s got one leg swung over the ledge, like the way Andrew sits, except his body doesn’t carry any rigid lines.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, without looking back at Andrew. Maybe he heard him come up, with that hypervigilance of his. Or maybe, he was waiting for this. </p><p>Andrew sits beside him, cautious of the distance between the edge and his body. He plants his feet firmly where they’re splayed out, catches Neil studying him. </p><p>“You’re afraid of heights,” he says, prying into more truths without realizing how devastating it is for Andrew to be understood. He’s reminded of the star from the story, wonders if Neil is a safe harbor or the Sun. If he’ll sink peacefully or become ashes again. </p><p>“You’re running,” Andrew replies. Truth for truth. Neil watches everything, flinches at loud noises and particular names. He doesn’t dress in anything besides gray, and doesn’t speak unless he’s spoken to, or prompted. </p><p>“I’ll tell you a story,” he says slowly, “Like the one you told me.”</p><p>Andrew feels his jaw clench as he nods, curious and guilty for it all the same. The truth looks like it weighs Neil down, like he wears it every morning over his clothing, a second skin.</p><p>“There was a boy, and his mother. And she decided that one day, they had to run across the world, for no reason. She never told him why, only that he’d have to be a girl in one state, and a boy in the next. That he’d have a new name every few months, or a new hair color, maybe both. Never the same person.”</p><p>He pauses, looking uncertain as he stares at his knees. If Andrew wasn’t a coward, he’d reach out. But he is, and Neil is opening his mouth to speak again, so he wraps his hands around cigarettes and a lighter instead.</p><p>“A monster caught up with them and his mother vanished, which is a nice way of saying that she died. Then the monster was killed, but the monster was actually his dad, so the boy moved to South Carolina and changed his name for the last time and now he doesn’t dye his hair. The FBI protects him where he’s at, and he plays exy, and he’s alright.”</p><p>Andrew can’t help the rough laugh that falls from his mouth, before he responds, “Well that’s a shitty story. Glad you’re not a writer.”</p><p>Neil laughs, bold and bright, the realest sound that Andrew’s ever heard. It makes him dizzy and to his surprise, he laughs along again, though it’s sharp as it leaves his mouth, landing hard in the silence between them.</p><p>“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” Neil huffs, eyes sparkling as his gaze catches on Andrew’s own. </p><p>“Me either,” he replies, struggling to catch his breath as Neil keeps staring at him. His eyes are wide and awed, filled with something like worry and excitement all at once. </p><p>There’s a piece of sadness wedged in between them, which makes Andrew think that the story was a deliberate truth, but the way Neil’s face has closed up after giving it makes Andrew hesitant to ask further. He doesn’t take anything without it being offered; he <em> won’t </em>. Not until it’s given. </p><p>He could always ask if he felt like it. Somehow though, he feels like asking would carve a well around the truth, would uncover more and more until it was too late to disguise his curiosity. Mutual destruction, because Neil might run away, and Andrew knows that the ache in his chest is <em> want </em>, and if Neil runs…  </p><p>He won’t ask. </p><p>They sit together until Andrew’s mouth fills with the things he can’t say and Neil is yawning, and then they stand up and walk to the door together. </p><p>If Andrew dreams of the way Neil said <em> goodnight </em>, nobody will ever find out, and he pretends that it never happened anyway. </p><p>-</p><p>The next night, Neil falls asleep on the rooftop in the middle of Andrew’s story. </p><p>It’s become a habit to meet at around the same time - Neil’s starting to get there first every night, no matter how long he takes in the shower, or at practice. Kevin’s made a habit of waiting for him to scold him for skipping out on night practices, but he can’t be bothered to complain for long. Neil pretending he can’t hear him is surprisingly effective. Must’ve picked it up from watching Andrew. </p><p>“Neil?” He asks, softer than usual because no one will hear him if he lets his walls down a bit. Neil stirs on the ground, but only barely. His arms are tucked up around his middle, one wrapped around his ribs and the other splayed on the ground like he’s holding onto it. </p><p>Andrew wonders if it means anything, then thinks that he’d probably get the truth if he asked. </p><p>He repeats his name and waits for the response, sighing when he receives none. And against his better judgement, like everything he does involving Neil, Andrew spreads his jacket on the ground and curls up, all joints pointed outwards like a flower made of edges, protecting himself from the world.</p><p>They wake up together with the sunrise, bodies held separate and carefully away. Neil’s face lights up with glee and crumples under the weight of it in the same second, shadowed by some other emotion that Andrew can’t name. </p><p>“<em> Fuck </em>, my back hurts,” Andrew mutters and Neil laughs a bit, face clearing as he stretches out. Andrew averts his eyes from the strip of skin that becomes visible as his hoodie rises, a pale pink scar stretching along his lower abdomen. </p><p>Neil catches him looking anyway, flashes an apologetic sort of smile, and Andrew takes it as the only explanation he’s going to get. </p><p>“Practice?” Neil asks, “Kevin’s going to commit murder if we’re late.”</p><p>“I’m going to commit murder if he even tries,” Andrew mutters, relaxing instinctively at the sound of Neil’s light laughter. He rolls his shoulders up and back, wincing at the sharp ache that settles between his shoulder blades. </p><p>“C’mon. You can see if Abby has anything for it.” The space between his eyebrows creases as he opens his mouth to speak again. “Muscle relaxers are a thing, right?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew mutters quietly, pointedly ignoring the small smile this brings to Neil’s mouth, and the heady, warm feeling that spreads through his body when he sees it. </p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>Kevin starts bitching as soon as they walk in, bringing a small, triumphant grin to Neil’s face and a murderous scowl to Kevin’s.</p><p>“And I <em> told  </em>you not to get involved with him. Why are you hanging out with Andrew? You told Nicky you don’t swing.”</p><p><em> This </em> catches Andrew’s attention. He fixes his blank stare on Neil, catching the confusion in his expression. His tone turns sharp and brittle in a second, and the way he glances at Andrew is almost protective. “I <em> don’t </em>. What does that have to do with talking to Andrew?”</p><p>Well. That diminishes the hope, just a bit. <em> Andrew </em> thinks that it matters, considering he’s been trying to work out the best way to offer a hookup all week. </p><p>Either Kevin knows him<em> that </em> well, or he can read Andrew’s thoughts, because he turns to glare at him immediately. </p><p>“Don’t mess with him. If rumors get out that he’s gay, he won’t make Court.”</p><p>Andrew doesn’t feel the need to dignify that with a proper response, opting instead to flip him off. Kevin scoffs and turns away, and Neil gives him a secret, conspiratorial grin. If Andrew’s knees go weak, he’s the only one who notices. </p><p>Except, Renee is already watching them curiously. There’s a solid spark of awareness in her eyes that tells Andrew that he should be wary, and the second she asks to spar with him later, he knows that he’s done for. </p><p>He barely tries at practice, determined to leave quickly, to get as far from her suspicion as possible. Somehow, she manages to stick by him even after practice. </p><p>“You’ve never been a coward, so why are you running?”</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be asking the runaway?” Andrew mutters back, glancing at Neil as he walks by with his head held low. </p><p>“He’s not running anymore. But you know that already, don’t you?” She smiles sweetly at him and he scoffs, following her to their spot in the gym, regardless of how insufferable she’s being. </p><p>“It’s nothing, Renee. He’s nothing.”</p><p>“Does he think that?”</p><p>He stares at her, hoping it’ll deter her question. “He doesn’t swing,” he says plainly, instead of admitting that he thought <em> maybe </em> . With the way Neil was looking at him, it <em> might’ve </em> been. Andrew hadn’t let himself go beyond thinking of it, no room for hope to lead him in the wrong direction. What he’d thought was hatred, annoyance, disbelief, was something entirely different. He’s never known such a feeling before. </p><p>The truth of it stings his skin, friction on an open wound. Each time he sees Neil, he feels it consuming him, fire on gasoline. The impossibility of it, of <em> them </em>, tears him open. To insist that it’s nothing is safety, to believe that he’ll never reciprocate is simple, bitter truth. </p><p>“Okay," she says simply, patiently. It never grates on Andrew's nerves, the way he expected it to after the first time. "Do <em> you </em> believe that it’s nothing?”</p><p>She gets into position before hearing his answer, cueing him to do the same. He counts down as he always does to start them off. </p><p>He never answers the question, but it’s there in every misguided swing, in each missed kick, and fall as she takes him down again. </p><p>-</p><p>She drops him off at the roof later, and says, “I don’t think it’s nothing. For either of you.” And then, “Goodbye, Andrew.”</p><p>He’s tempted to throw his phone off the roof, just to release the feeling building in his chest, but the sight of Neil perched on the edge stops him just as he dips into his pocket to grab it.</p><p>He waves a bit and Andrew grips his phone harder as he slips it back into his pocket. </p><p>“Hey,” Neil says, once Andrew’s close enough to hear him. He grunts something vague back, still tensed from earlier. He’d tried to hide his wince earlier, but Neil’s sharp eyes catch everything. </p><p>“You’re bruised,” Neil observes, and Andrew throws him an unimpressed look. </p><p>“Not completely blind," Andrew mutters, "You want a prize for seeing it?”</p><p>Neil seems caught between a grin and a frown, tilting his head to catch sight of the blooming purple across Andrew’s jaw. Renee has a dirty habit of going for the face, and a mean right hook that she never holds back with him. </p><p>“Can I try something? My mom taught me it.”</p><p>Andrew contemplates as he stares, and Neil stares back unflinchingly. It’s rare that anyone stares at Andrew openly, much less when he meets their eyes. And it’s enough to convince him to nod, albeit stiffly. </p><p>Neil holds his palm over the line of Andrew’s jaw, a question in his eyes. “Can I?” He asks, and Andrew hates him ten times more than he already did. If there was a percentage, he’d be nearing a hundred by now. He nods, not trusting himself to say <em> yes </em> out loud, already feeling like he’s dangling from a very high cliff. </p><p>His proximity to the edge of the roof has the same effect, if he’s being honest. Or maybe it’s Neil’s fingers on the edges of the bruise. He lines up his index finger and ring, leaving a space between them, then traces his middle finger through it. The bruise aches a bit at the feeling, but Andrew just clenches his jaw and holds still, not daring to move. </p><p>Neil looks at him cautiously as he removes his hand, leaning back immediately out of his space, as if he understands more than he’s been told. </p><p>“Did it work?” He asks hopefully, biting his bottom lip. Andrew mirrors him, as he shakes his head. A laugh pours out of Neil’s mouth, shoulders shaking as he tries to clamp his mouth shut.</p><p>“Yeah no, it never did when I was a kid. Just wanted to see if it worked on someone else.”</p><p>“It didn’t,” Andrew says. “Also, I don’t know what you were trying to do in the first place.”</p><p>Neil smiles at that, hiding it by looking down at the stretch of concrete between their legs. “Supposed to help the pain. But, I don’t think it worked. Probably just placebo.”</p><p>Andrew shakes his head again, and his smile dulls a bit. “Oh well,” Neil sighs, and they’re so close that his breath ghosts across Andrew’s face. Everything bubbles up inside him suddenly, hot and furious. Renee’s words of earlier swirl around in his brain until he can’t bear to think about it anymore. </p><p>“Oh well,” Andrew echoes, then, “Neil. Can I kiss you?” </p><p>Neil stills; Andrew freezes. The world stops turning, a feeling like they’re both holding their breath. Andrew can feel Neil’s gaze on him, because he’s not a coward and can make eye contact. Andrew studiously stares at the crack in the ledge of the rooftop, wishing he could bite his tongue and take it back.</p><p>Neil asks, “Er. Do you want to?” Instead of rejecting him flat-out, or saying something more reasonable. Andrew feels his heart rate thump erratically, galloping forward with hope, despite the sinking fear in his stomach. </p><p>“Don’t be stupid. It’s a yes or no question, do you or don’t you?”</p><p>Neil pauses again, falling silent, and finally turning to stare at the skyline. Andrew takes it as permission to study his face, looking for any signs of discomfort or pressure. Instead, he finds a small curve of his smile, nothing like his usual sharp smirks, or wide, mean grins. This is a ghost, softer and infinitely prettier than any other expression Andrew’s ever seen on his face. </p><p>He wants to do anything to keep it there. </p><p>“Yeah. I think I do.”</p><p>And instead of taking that as implicit permission to kiss Andrew, he puts his hands in his lap and leans forward, stopping just shy of a kiss. “Can I?”</p><p>“Yes.” It’s a dare, a challenge to see who will break first, and though Andrew prides himself on self control, this is a dream he’s not willing to watch slip away. He presses forward harshly, not backing down, and Neil matches him step for step. </p><p>Andrew pulls away for a moment to observe, anger burning up as he sees Neil’s fingers pressed firmly into the concrete at their feet, unmoving. Like he already knows the boundary drawn up between them. His eyes flicker upwards to Neil’s face, lips red and eyes closed still. </p><p>He can’t help but move in again, and doesn’t pull away until Neil murmurs a “<em> thank you </em>,” against Andrew’s lips. </p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew mutters, pressing forward once again. </p><p>“Are you going to write a story about this?” Neil asks quietly, humor tracing the edges of his tone. Andrew pulls away again, hands wandering up to cup Neil’s cheek. He turns his face into it, lips soft against the brush of Andrew’s thumb. </p><p>“Fuck off,” he says, and traps Neil’s laugh in the palm of his hand. He’s already committed everything to memory, though. Later that week, in between kisses, he tells Neil a bitter story with the sweetest ending. Andrew catalogues the sight of Neil’s smile in a memory folder that makes him feel hopeful. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading ! comments, kudos, n' all the hits are very appreciated, n' thank you guys for the constant support n' reads &lt;3</p><p>stay safe, above everything. love y'all !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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